


Neither Deep Nor Tragic

by semele



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 03:52:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2136006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semele/pseuds/semele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Self-destruction, Wesley knows, is very melodramatic.</p><p>(Set somewhere between late s3 and early s4)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neither Deep Nor Tragic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thinlizzy2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinlizzy2/gifts).



> Thank you so much for your amazing prompt! I only hope I did it justice :).

There is nothing that competes with habit  
And I know it's neither deep nor tragic  
Simply that you have to have it

Aimee Mann, _You Could Make a Killing_

 

Self-destruction, Wesley knows, is very melodramatic.

He's always had a flare for drama, for flashy speeches and all those lovely big words that sounded so exciting and safe back in London, when he was mostly responsible for having neat notes and well-ironed shirts. To be a Watcher is to be a leader, and a good leader has to inspire; to wield words and emotions as well as swords.

Of course Wesley never was a particularly good Watcher.

Now that he has all the time in the world, and nothing but a bottle for company, he can finally take inventory of his failures, out of sheer habit arranging them by year and by name: Lehane, Faith before Angel, Connor, with others stuck in between. He shouldn't be doing this, but he's still on the mend after the throat-cutting, so it's not like he can turn to his usual distractions. Technically, he could do research, but he doesn't feel particularly competent in this area at the moment. That leaves staring at the ceiling, alcohol, and self-pity as his only sources of entertainment, and Wesley is nothing short of excellent at them.

So when Lilah waltzes into his flat like she owns it, oozing charm, confidence, and just enough drama, he sees right through her and her Dante, talking of hell, how fitting. Lilah prefers her melodrama served cold, but it doesn't make much of a difference. She can appreciate good self-destruction just as much as Wesley.

She leaves him to his brooding and booze, and when the murderous mixture of alcohol and painkillers finally takes the better of him, and he ends up retching his guts out at five in the morning, she doesn't miraculously show up like a knight in white armor to save him from himself.

He figured she wouldn't, but he had to check anyway.

***

Lilah becomes the only person he sees.

Other people make appearances, but it's different – seeing, in Wesley's book, requires things like eye contact, a modicum of good will, and a mutual agreement that we don't want to set each other on fire.

To be fair, he most likely _would_ set Lilah on fire if need be. But it's not on his It Would Make Me Feel Better list, and that counts for something. Just in case he doesn't ask how Lilah feels about setting him on fire.

She keeps offering him a job as if he'd ever take it, and he isn't sure what to think about this. He can't figure out if this is her idea or her supervisors', or maybe something in between: Lilah not informing them just how hopeless this case is, because it suits her to see Wesley every now and then, and work her own angle. What exactly would that be eludes him, but he'd be the first to admit that most of the time, he's too drunk to keep up with her.

***

Rejecting Lilah becomes one of the habits of Wesley's state of friendlessness, and quite an enjoyable one, all things considered – easy and familiar, but without triggering memories he doesn't want to think about.

(Memories he spends too much time thinking about anyway.)

She isn't surprised when he greets her unshaved and filthy. Melodrama has rules, and cleanliness, they both know, lacks the necessary gravitas that comes with shadows under the eyes, and the faint stench of stale sweat. 

“Well, this is pathetic,” says Lilah as she steps over an empty bottle. “Can't you just turn evil already? _So_ much more style. Not to mention soap.”

“Is there anything you want, Lilah?”

“I'm just checking up on you. Isn't that what friends do? And by 'friends' I mean 'mortal enemies'?”

“I won't work for you.”

“Yes you will. The question is whether or not you'll be getting a paycheck.”

She's close enough he could strike her, but it doesn't seem right – this isn't how they play, wrong style and wrong mood, not nearly self-destructive enough. So instead he steps in even closer, and curls his fingers against the nape of her neck in dramatic suspense before he kisses her full on the lips.

She doesn't push him away, but she wipes her mouth as soon as he comes up for air.

“Gross,” she states calmly. “You know, when I want to roll in mud, there's usually a tub involved, not to mention a massage and quite a lot of money.”

Wesley holds her gaze without flinching, then turns and heads straight to the bathroom. He never thought a man in his thirties could defiantly take a shower, but here he is, hot and cold and more excited than he's been in days. This isn't him, except it totally is, a boy in a white suit with way too many broken bones, and eager to hurt himself in the most picturesque way possible.

He brushes his teeth for good measure, avoiding the mirror with masterful grace. He might be clean now, but it doesn't mean he's cleansed.

Lilah is waiting right where he left her, and she makes no move to close the distance between them, but once he reaches her, she kisses him back, and lets her hands rest on his bare chest.

“Now you really showed me,” she murmurs into his mouth. “I'm curious, do you also do cartwheels?”

“Shut up, Lilah.”

“Always the gentleman.”

They don't really hate each other, but it it looks like they do, so they can take satisfaction from mock violence, clashing teeth and scratching nails, and pushing a bit too hard for comfort. Wesley always suspected that no proper world can ever end with a whimper.

He waits for Lilah to say “I love you” after she comes, but to his surprise, she opts for silence, a low key moment of peace. This is the first time he sees her make a mistake in the game, and break the rules that he understands. At the moment, it's too scary to think that Lilah might be playing a different game altogether, so Wesley decides she must've slipped. An 'I love you,' he thinks, would be a perfect ending. 

Love, after all, can be a terrible thing.


End file.
